


Chronicles of Archenland

by Drollittle



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:11:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21973372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drollittle/pseuds/Drollittle
Summary: The inside story of Cor’s family—before, during, and after The Horse and His Boy.
Relationships: Lune/Queen
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Chronicles of Archenland

Chapter 1: Surprised by Joy

Queen Miriette of Archenland listened to the swelling song and talk in the grand hall. She nibbled a tiny potato pastry, smiling through her aches and pains because she was holding a secret. She didn’t relish eating or drinking, but she knew she would feel worse if she didn’t. She sipped watery tea, and felt it join the food inside her, churning awfully but lending strength bit by bit. As the grand-daughter of a river naiad, she was aware of the waters inside her own body. She smiled again. 

Her smile faltered with the thought that winter was already whistling at their gates. Winters were too long. Clouds crossed over the mountains from bewitched Narnia, shedding bitter snow, and when spring finally came it was cool and hesitant. Summers were too short and never yielded very bountiful crops, but this year had been particularly poor. Autumn had come, and the royal harvest festival was a sad affair—or it would have been, if King Lune had allowed it. 

Lune was cheerful to a fault. When someone mentioned any unpleasantness, he would either jump to an optimistic solution, or he would frown, pretend he hadn’t heard, and change the subject. 

He had ordered musicians, storytellers, dancers, jugglers, and decorations aplenty to make up for the lack of food at the feast, and he filled the hall with his own grand, jovial presence. Oh, how Miriette loved him. In the back of the room was a table that was traditionally filled with the Archenlanders’ excess food. They would give as they could and take as they needed, and the remainder would be smuggled into Narnia for the poor beasts there. This year there was only one bag of oats and three jars of marmalade. For the feast, Lune had insisted on the traditional seven courses, so small portions of food were served at long intervals, but at least everyone was enjoying the entertainment and camaraderie. 

Single slices of turkey were served with raisins and gravy. Lune was served first, of course, but he seemed too busy singing to begin eating. Miriette finished hers, and then he inconspicuously exchanged their plates. _Not again_ , she thought. 

“Lune,” she protested, “thou must eat.”

“Have eaten,” he replied.

“ _This_ ,” she moved the plate towards him, but he gently stopped her hand with one of his own large, warm, beloved hands. 

He looked into her eyes, showing all his care and courage and hope. “Thou hast more need of it, dearest. Art nourishing twain.” 

“Three,” she corrected him, returning his smile and accepting his food. _So much for keeping the secret._

“Three? How now?”

“We have twins.”

Lune’s “Ha!” was proud and full, and the rest of the evening was pure jubilation. 

~

King Lune and Queen Miriette rode away from the Centaur’s woodland garden sanctuary, and traveled through glorious green Narnia with their entourage, rejoicing and singing praises (quietly, because the twins were falling asleep). 

The old centaur had smiled on Corin first, saying, “This is a goodly child. Vitality undiminished and courage undaunted will be his. He will lighten your days with joy and laughter.”

Then he had looked to Cor, and had immediately turned his eyes skyward, inhaled deeply, and spoken so quietly that every being throughout the sanctuary heard, as if in their own ear alone: 

_When in deadliest peril your Archenland lies_

_From an enemy rabid and rash,_

_Out of waiting and trial this child will arise_

_And to your deliverance dash._

_Fear not, rest assured that his way he will find,_

_Though your treasure flies East in the night,_

_The Lion will guard at his fore and his hind,_

_Will guide on his left and his right._

They had recorded the words carefully, and asked their scribe to recite the prophecy as they traveled back to Anvard. They were proud to know that their son would perform such heroic deeds, and be in Aslan’s care. They didn’t worry much about the loss of any treasure—gold and silver meant little to the good King and Queen of Archenland. 

~

Queen Miriette greeted her husband on the steps of Anvard’s keep. Corin slept in her arms; she had not set him down in days, since they had found Cor’s cradle empty. Her arms ached with the weight of him, but more so with the lopsidedness. She had been so proud of her twins. She had hoped and prayed that Lune would return with Cor, but she saw no infant in his arms, and the men’s faces expressed sorrow and anger. 

Without a word Lune and Miriette embraced, with Corin safely between them. 

“Didst thou find naught?” she said at last. 

“We did track Bar and his accomplices unto Rockport. They were a’sail in a Terebinthian ship, but we gave chase and overtook them. I slew him—Bar.” Lune made a dire, pained grimace. “But Cor was not to be found on the ship. _Gone, our child!_ Have dispatched men to search Rockport, and implored the naiads and merpeople to help us, but I fear . . .”

“Mayhap they shall find him.”

“Hope it may be so, but thou knowest the ways of the sea people. I intend no offense, but they are . . .”

“. . . easily distracted,” she agreed. 

Lune stepped back from her and Corin, throwing his hands up. “Would that I had banished that traitor after he embezzled from the treasury! He had shown his colors; wherefore was I such a soft-hearted fool! Too optimistic it was to suppose that he would mend.”

“Lune, Lune,” Miriette responded, “‘Tis thy optimism and soft heart that will see us through this ordeal.”

Lune was not reassured. She longed for him to smile, to reassure and comfort her like he usually did, but he shook his head and overlooked the courtyard, where men were leading horses and running packages to and fro. 

“Shall take fresh men and horses and scour the country. If we cannot find Cor here, shall sail to Terebinthia and demand his return or do battle.”

Miriette’s heart lurched at the idea of Lune departing for months at sea, battling Terebinthia, which had a stronger navy, and possibly never returning. 

“Stay,” she urged. “We need thee here.”

His face softened a fraction, “Wouldst thou have me give Cor up for lost? The prophecy saith he is indispensable to Archenland, and it saith East. He is our treasure, flown East, and what is east of us but Terebinthia?”

_The prophecy_ . . . Miriette turned to gaze at a Lion statue that stood at the corner of the stairs. 

“Fear not,” she said softly. 

Lune looked puzzled; either he had not heard her clearly or he could not fathom a reason _not_ to fear. 

Miriette said, “The prophecy saith, ‘ _Fear not, rest assured that his way he will find,_

_Though your treasure flies East in the night,_

_The Lion will guard at his fore and his hind,_

_Will guide on his left and his right.’_

Corin stirred, and she swayed to soothe him. _“His_ way _he_ will find, Lune. Methinks we shall not find Cor. Aslan will guide him home in His own time.”

“That does not mean we should not try.” Lune said. 

“Verily so, but we are told to _rest_ assured, not to rush out to battle. Perchance we have an enemy whose very intent is to distract thee and draw thee out of Anvard. Do but imagine how Calormen might take advantage of war betwixt us and Terebinthia! Send men to search the country, send forth peaceful embassies, but please, do not leave us again now.”

Lune leaned close, rested his forehead against Miriette’s. “I would stay with thee. . . but Cor—I know not. . .”

Miriette was suddenly wrapped in the most inexplicable feeling of peace, even joy. It was illogical for a mother in such a position to feel joy, but it came over her nonetheless.

“Aslan hath a plan for Cor,” she said, “and only He knoweth when and where Cor will be needed, but He hath revealed through the centaur that we must rest. And think! In His great love for us He hath given us Corin, so that we shall not be childless.”

“So He did,” Lune agreed. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned toward the courtyard. “Captain! Hear, our plan hath changed.”


End file.
